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Enjolras knocked on the door to Courfeyrac’s apartment, a deep scowl on his face. He did not want to be here, not tonight. He wanted to be at home, curled up on the couch, pointedly ignoring his phone, pointedly not calling Grantaire, pointedly not thinking about the man.
They had broken up just under a week ago, when Grantaire had announced at the end of one of their fights, “I’m done. I’m fucking done.” And he had walked out. Enjolras had given him space and time, hoping he would change his mind, but the man was proving as stubborn as ever.
Well, two could play at that game.
It didn’t help that Enjolras couldn’t even remember what they were fighting about, what had sparked the fight that had turned into a nasty affair, both saying things they didn’t mean – or at least, Enjolras didn’t mean. Hadn’t meant.
He had come home from a particularly incendiary protest that had turned into a bit of a riot, sporting a black eye (which had faded by now, thankfully) and cut across one eyebrow that looked worse than it was. Somewhere in the course of cleaning him up, Grantaire had snapped at him over something, and Enjolras had retorted, “Well, maybe if you had been there instead of hiding in here!”
The rest was lost in a flurry of yelling and insults and purposefully trying to wound the other person with words.
But then Grantaire had left, and Enjolras was left with a gaping hole in his life that he hoped was just temporary.
In the meantime, Courfeyrac had called and insist that he come over to Courf’s tonight for a special gathering of Les Amis. Enjolras didn’t know what this special gathering entailed and he rather wished he didn’t have to find out. The last special gathering of Les Amis had involved strip poker which, coupled with a rather inconveniently timed boner, had left Enjolras unable to look anyone in the face for the next several days (Grantaire’s howling laughter at the time had not helped, but at least he had sucked Enjolras off in the bathroom, which appeased him somewhat).
Grantaire was not going to be here tonight. Enjolras had already asked. And the prospect of facing whatever Courfeyrac had planned sounded even more daunting without Grantaire at his side.
Courfeyrac opened the door, beaming at Enjolras. “Enjolras! Do come in!” He ushered Enjolras inside, and Enjolras threw a confused look at Les Amis, who were sprawled in a rough circle on the furniture and floor of Courfeyrac’s living room. “We’re playing truth or dare,” announced Courf, his grin turning wicked. “And I was just dared to kiss the next person who came through the door, so.”
Before Enjolras was even able to process what was going on, Courfeyrac had planted a kiss on his lips. Enjolras spluttered incoherently as Courfeyrac pulled away, and the group exploded in laughter. “Which one of you dared him to do that?” Enjolras demanded, eyes lighting on Marius, who shrank away from his glare.
“Cosette was supposed to be here next and we thought it’d be funny,” Marius offered weakly.
“Relax, Enj,” said Courfeyrac, slinging an arm over Enjolras’s shoulders and leading him into the living room and sitting him in between Combeferre and Jehan, who both gave Enjolras sympathetic glances. “I believe it’s Bahorel’s turn.”
Without looking up from where he was texting, taking up easily half the couch, Bahorel said in a bored voice, “Dare.”
Courfeyrac grinned wickedly. “Make Jehan blush in just one sentence.”
The group let out a collective “Ooo.” Jehan was notoriously hard to make blush or embarrassed (it was hard to embarrass a man who by society’s standards should be embarrassed by half of his idiosyncrasies).
Bahorel sat up a little straighter, his eyes narrowed and lips pursed slightly as he thought about it. Then he grinned. Turning to face Jehan, he propped his chin thoughtfully on one hand, letting his eyes rake up and down Jehan’s body before he said in a voice that more of a purr than anything, “I would let you top the fuck out of me.”
To Enjolras’s surprise, Jehan blushed scarlet. To Enjolras’s even bigger surprise, so did Courfeyrac. Feuilly let out what sounded suspiciously like a snigger hastily turned into a cough. Combeferre cleared his throat loudly. “Right. Bahorel, pick who goes next.”
They continued in this manner for some time before it was Enjolras’s turn. “Dare,” said Enjolras without thinking.
Combeferre and Courfeyrac exchanged glances and Courfeyrac said, “I dare you to call Grantaire and ask him ‘truth or dare’.”
Enjolras just stared at Courfeyrac for a long moment. It would be the first time he had talked to Grantaire since their fight. It would also be the perfect excuse to talk to him, to hear his voice on the other end of the phone. So huffing a sigh, Enjolras pulled his phone out and dialed the number that he had memorized. Grantaire’s voice was wary when he picked up. “Hello?”
"Truth or dare?" asked Enjolras in lieu of a greeting.
There was a pause before Grantaire asked, “What?"
Enjolras closed his eyes. “We’re um, we’re playing truth or dare and I got dared to call you and ask you truth or dare. So…truth or dare?"
There was an even longer pause before Grantaire said quietly, “Truth."
Biting his lip, Enjolras looked sideways at their friends, who were listening intently, and turned away from them, as if they wouldn’t be able to hear him. “Are you ever going to forgive me?" he asked Grantaire, hoping he didn’t sound as desperate as he felt.
Grantaire sighed. “I don’t know.”
“What do you mean, you don’t know?” asked Enjolras, knowing that he definitely sounded desperate.
“Exactly what I said. I don’t know.” There was a flinty quality to Grantaire’s voice that wasn’t entirely familiar, and Enjolras wasn’t entirely sure if he liked it (or if he was allowed to have an opinion on it). “Now it’s your turn. Truth or dare?”
Enjolras frowned. “That wasn’t part of this. I was just supposed to ask you.”
The flint in Grantaire’s voice hardened. “I don’t particularly give a fuck. You started this. Truth or dare?”
“Give me a moment,” said Enjolras, getting to his feet and heading for the door, unwilling to have the continuation of this conversation in earshot of their friends, who had already heard far too much for their own good. “Fine. Um, truth.”
Grantaire’s voice was sad when he asked, “Do you even know why I’m angry at you?”
Of all the questions that Grantaire could have asked, this one was easily the worst. Because Enjolras understood, on some level, why Grantaire was mad, yes, but he didn’t understand why that anger had suddenly led to a snap in their relationship, to a chasm where it should only have been a crack. He couldn’t see, perhaps, that all the miniscule cracks had run together to form this gulf. Or maybe he just didn’t want to see it.
Either way, he took a deep breath and let it all out in an exhale. “I…I think so.”
“Then tell me why.”
Enjolras frowned and snapped, “Not how the game is played. You asked if I did, and I gave my answer. Now it’s my turn.”
Grantaire chuckled, but it was a bitter chuckle, full of anger and hurt and simmering resentment – though whether at himself or Enjolras, neither man really knew. “Ah, semantics. You always were good at equivocating, Enj.”
Biting back his angry retort, Enjolras took another deep breath as he pushed open the door of Courfeyrac’s apartment building, stepping out into the cool night air. “Truth or dare.”
“Dare.”
Seizing the opportunity, knowing he may never get another, Enjolras said boldly, “I dare you to come over here so we can have this conversation in person.”
There was a long pause, then Grantaire said softly, “Conversation? I believe this is what they call an argument, Enjy.”
It was an argument. And it wasn’t. They had argued for so long about so many things, and this was not the way their arguments usually went. This was something deeper than an argument, worse somehow, far more raw and painful and unsure than any of their previous arguments.
Still, Grantaire sighed and said, “I’m on my way. Truth or dare?”
Enjolras frowned. “Should we be doing this while you drive?”
He could practically hear Grantaire rolling his eyes as he repeated, “Truth or dare?”
Taking a leaf from Grantaire’s book, and hoping to avoid a rewording of the previous question Enjolras replied, “Dare.”
“I dare you to tell me why you think I’m mad at you.”
“That’s cheating,” responded Enjolras instantly, his mind and his heart racing.
Grantaire huffed something that sounded like a mix between a sigh and a chuckle. “Humor me. And I’ll give you a hint—there’s more than one reason.”
As Enjolras began to go through the admittedly long list of things he had done to make Grantaire angry with him, Courfeyrac was inside his apartment, nose practically pressed against the glass of his window, trying to spy on Enjolras as best as possible. Combeferre cleared his throat. “Courf, it’s your turn. Truth or Dare?”
“Dare,” said Courfeyrac, not turning around.
If he had turned, he would have seen the look Combeferre exchanged with Jehan. “Fine. I dare you to not spy on Enjolras for the rest of his conversation with Grantaire.”
Courfeyrac threw Combeferre a wounded look. “I’m not spying,” he protested half-heartedly, slumping from the window back to their lopsided circle, plopping down next to Jehan, who kissed his cheek.
“Just give them time,” Jehan whispered. “Unless you want to continue dealing with a heartbroken Enjolras.”
Though Courfeyrac still pouted, he kissed Jehan back and turned to glare at Joly, who looked offended. “I had nothing to do with this!”
Courfeyrac’s eyes narrowed. “Maybe not, but it’s your turn anyway. So tell me…truth or dare?”
Outside, Enjolras had just about reached the end of his list, concluding, “And when we first got together, I forgot our first month anniversary, and when you pointed it out to me, I laughed and asked if it mattered, which I can only assume that it did.”
There was silence from Grantaire until he asked slowly, “Do you sense a common theme running through these?”
“That wasn’t part of the dare,” said Enjolras, a hint of irritability crawling into his voice.
“Fine,” snapped Grantaire. “Truth.”
Enjolras paused for a moment before asking quietly, “Was I right about why you’re mad at me?”
The pause stretched for almost a minute before Grantaire sighed, and Enjolras could just see him pinching the bridge of his nose, the way he did when the painting he was working on was giving him a difficult time. “You were partially right. You’re missing the big connection between all of it. Truth or dare?”
Enjolras was about to respond when a car in the street in front of Courfeyrac’s apartment building rear-ended the car in front of it with a sudden squeal of tires and crunch of metal that made Enjolras drop his phone in surprise. “Shit,” he swore, grabbing his phone off the pavement. ”Grantaire?”
There was no response – his phone had turned off from the fall, and as Enjolras turned it back on, he jogged out in to the street to check the damage. The driver of the car that had rear-ended the other was slumped over, blood trickling from a cut on his forehead and Enjolras swore again, dialing emergency services as soon as his phone turned on all the way. “Hi, I’d like to report an accident…”
Ten minutes later, the cops and paramedics had arrived. Enjolras stood on the sidewalk, arms crossed and irritation plain on his face as the police officer questioned him for what seemed like the hundredth time. “Once again,” said Enjolras impatiently, “I didn’t see anything. I was on the phone with my boy—with my friend.”
“We’re just trying to make sure we have all the facts, son,” said the cop patronizingly, and Enjolras ground his teeth.
He was about to respond when he heard a shout and saw Grantaire sprinting down the sidewalk toward him, pure panic written on his face. Enjolras was confused for a moment until he realized he hadn’t called Grantaire back, meaning the last thing Grantaire heard before he’d accidentally hung up on him was the sound of squealing tires and a thud. “Oh, shit,” Enjolras swore under his breath, assuming what he hoped was an apologetic expression.
Grantaire stopped short and bent over, hands on his knees, wheezing, “Are. You. Alright?”
Enjolras swallowed, a little nervous. “Um, yeah, I’m fine. I’m so sorry, I should’ve called you back, what I was on the phone with emergency services, and I just…I forgot.”
“You forgot,” Grantaire echoed hollowly, his face still flushed from running. “You forgot. You fucking—” He broke off, clenching his jaw. “I thought you had been hit by a car,” he hissed finally, hands balled into fists at his side. “For fuck’s sake, I thought you might have died, you stupid fucking asshole.”
He shook his head and turned, walking away. “Grantaire, wait!” said Enjolras, grabbing his arm. “I’m sorry, I swear. It was an accident.”
“It wasn’t an accident,” snapped Grantaire. “It was another in a long line of incidents that only prove that I’m not nearly as important to you as I want to be.”
Enjolras frowned. “That’s not true,” he protested.
Grantaire just cocked his head at him. “Oh really? Because that’s sure as hell what it feels like.”
"I know," said Enjolras placatingly, but Grantaire shook his head.
Without warning, Grantaire seemed to snap, all his words coming out in a rush. “No, you don’t know. You don’t know what it’s like to be second best, always. Second most important, the thing I’m lucky if you give a second thought to. I’m tired of it, Enjolras." Grantaire’s voice sounded tired, and defeated, and maybe a little like he was crying, and Enjolras tensed from wanting to grab him, to pull him into a bone crushing embrace, to kiss the tears from his face. “You want to play truth or dare? Well, here’s some truth for you - you have been the first of everything in my life for a very long time. I loved you practically since I first saw you, and I waited and I hoped, and yeah, I did stupid shit in the meantime because I was never going to be your anything so it didn’t seem to matter. And when you finally pulled your head out of your ass and realized how I felt, I was so goddamn happy to know that you felt anything for me, let alone to be your second best, thrilled to be considered second most important. But I can’t do it anymore."
He took a step away from Enjolras, arms crossed in front of his chest so tightly it was as if he was trying to physically hold himself together. “I won’t do it anymore."
Enjolras automatically reached out for him, and Grantaire flinched away. Swallowing hard, Enjolras said quietly, “I do love you—"
"No," Grantaire told Enjolras, his voice hard. “No. Here’s a dare for you, Enjolras. Figure out what those words mean. I dare you to decide what you truly love: me, or your precious revolution. But don’t throw those words at me unless you truly mean it."
With that said, he strode away from Enjolras, who stared at his retreating back, his heart feeling like it was being torn in two. Grantaire wanted the impossible from him, a choice he couldn’t make. He loved Grantaire, truly he did, but the people, the world – they needed him.
But as he watched Grantaire walk away, as he watched the love of his life start to walk out of it for good, he realized that Grantaire needed him, too. And for some reason that Enjolras would never quite understand, he needed Grantaire.
And so the decision that was never really a decision in the first place was made. And Enjolras ran, sprinted after Grantaire. “Grantaire," Enjolras called. “Grantaire, wait." He almost ran into Grantaire, who had stopped suddenly, and, hesitantly, touched Grantaire, tentatively placing a hand on his shoulder. “It’s you, Grantaire. I love you."
Grantaire frowned. “You hardly gave it any thought," he pointed out.
Enjolras just shook his head. “I didn’t need to. I know this." He swallowed hard and took a deep breath. “I’m sorry. So, so sorry. And I can’t promise I won’t fuck up again, that I won’t make a mistake, that I won’t make you feel second-best. But Taire…" He broke off, desperation rising in his chest. “It’s your turn. And I dare you to try. To try and be patient, to try and help me change."
Looking at him sadly, Grantaire shook his head a little. “I don’t…I don’t know if I can do that.”
“Please.” Enjolras’s voice was quieter than it had ever been. There was no command in it, no sign of the revolutionary leader. He was just a man, heart in hand, pleading with the man that he loved to give him one more chance. “Please. Grantaire. I love you.”
“I love you, too,” said Grantaire, looking away. “But life is more than a game of truth or dare, Enjolras, and sometimes ‘I love you’ isn’t enough.” He swallowed hard before looking Enjolras in the eye. “Prove to me that you can change, that you can act different, that you can put me first, if not all the time, then at least some of the time, and maybe. Maybe. But I won’t go through this again, Enjolras, I swear to God I won’t.”
It wasn’t a no, and Enjolras let out the breath he hadn’t known he had been holding. “Thank you,” he said sincerely. “Thank you for letting me try.”
“You can start trying by buying me dinner tomorrow night,” said Grantaire firmly.
Enjolras frowned. “Tomorrow? But there’s a town council meeting that we’re supposed to…” He trailed off as Grantaire raised an eyebrow at him, and nodded. “Right. Tomorrow night. I can do that. 7 o’clock?”
Grantaire smiled, just a slight lift at the corner of his mouth. “7 works for me.”
Enjolras grinned, relief and hope flashing across his face. “Good. Then it’s a date.”
“No,” said Grantaire, walking backwards, a wry grin on his face. “It’s a dare.”